Vince Vaughn's Thumb
by antsinmyeyesjohnson
Summary: Morty gets into a scrap in this one, broh! Rick plays doctor.
1. Chapter 1: Oh Noes

Morty closed the door and, stifling the jingle of his house keys with a fist, made a surly beeline for the kitchen. Weirdly, both his dad and Rick were sat peaceably at the dining room table – dad hunched maternally over his iPad at one end and Rick poking with a thoughtful belligerence at the innards of a Chinese Takeout box with a fork at the other. Thankfully, neither of them bothered to look up or over as Morty snatched open the freezer door, extricated a frostbitten bag of frozen peas, lumped it in a tea towel and started towards the hallway.

"Hey son, dinner's in a bit," Jerry said, waving complacently toward the kitchen sounds.

"Thanks, okay, hi-" Morty replied, muffled, hurried, to which Rick glanced up.

"Ouf, _Morty_!" Rick ground out around a mouthful of noodles, his eyes narrowed with amusement. "Lookin' good. N-new haircut, or-?"

Morty froze. He made a rigid hostile gesture at Rick with his free hand and huffed a wet, irritable noise before shrinking from the ensuing curious look from his dad, who immediately clutched at his own neck and gasped.

"Jesus _Christ_! Morty!" Jerry stood up and sat immediately back down. He gaped as he took in Morty's face: two swollen, blackening eyes and a definitely broken mess of a nose that was dribbling an awful amount of blood into his shirt, pants and the swaddled bag cradled to his face. Jerry stood again, ineffectually.

"Who- what's going on!?"

He started over to Morty who put his arms out, wincing.

"Dad-" Morty backed towards the doorway, shaking his head. "It's-i-i-it's just sports, y'know? Just sports." A drip of clotted blood dotted the carpet. Jerry glanced at it, horrified. Morty continued placatingly, in a tired voice, "I'm just gonna go- gonna take a shower and clean up, okay? It's not... Not a thing, it's fine-"

"You have to go to the hospital!" Jerry protested, his voice rising in pitch as Morty slid from the room and into the hallway. "Hold your nose and tilt your head back!"

Rick fished a piece of ice from his glass with his fingers and, sighing, slid out of his chair.

"Lay off the Gray's Anatomy, _Meredith._ " He slipped the cube in his mouth and stepped around Jerry, crunching obnoxiously. "I'm on it."

Rick caught Morty up in three long strides and followed behind him up the stairs.

"How's the uh- how's the other guy look, huh?" He clapped a conspiratorial hand on Morty's shoulder. Morty shrugged it off.

"Probably pretty smug, probably got a reeeeal shit-eating grin, okay Rick? Probably something like that, who knows?"

"Woof," Rick grimaced. Morty pushed open the door to his room, threw his keys aside and sat heavily on his bed, groaning as he inspected the viscera that clung to the towelled peas.

"I'm not, uh-" Morty said baldly, "not super interested in talking about it?" His voice automatically coasted upwards at Rick's unimpressed expression, despite himself. Rick leaned into Morty's doorframe, crossing his arms.

"That makes two of us, Morty. Don't flatter yourself. What I figure you might be interested in, though, Morty," Rick raised an eyebrow and pretended to examine his fingernails, "is not having a face that looks like- looks like s-seven, seven shades of shit. Or whatever. Up to you."

Morty pressed his head to his knees and scrunched his eyes closed, face feeling like an anvil.

"Rick-" he started.

"I know they say having a weird nose gives your face character, Morty, but- in this scenario, unless the character you wanna b- wanna look like is Vince Vaughn- Vince Vaughn's Thumb, you should probably-"

"Rick," Morty began again, looking up with a sick expression that suggested he was absolutely about to cry, "This actually really hurts? So if you could - y'know, lay off and let me just go to the doctor tomorrow without breaking my balls about it? Okay? That'd be nice."

Rick gave Morty a long look, before peeling away from the doorframe and slipping out of the room. Morty squeezed closed his eyes and listened to his grandfather's retreating carpeted steps. A hot, electric wave of pain rolled over his face, and with it, a thunderclap of anger. His teeth throbbed. In how many realities, he wondered, was he not an underfoot, side-character, sidekick?

How many Mortys were stepping on heads and giving glib comebacks and kissing better-looking Jessica's in slightly more functional spaceships alongside even mildly less shitty Ricks?

Was being the "Mortiest-Morty" the same thing as being the shittiest idiot? At this point, was he pretty much just a perfect Labrador of Mortys, selected because he's a docile, amiable idiot who sits when he's told to and can carry raw eggs in his mouth without breaking them? He tried to picture Inspector Gadget's dog, but couldn't remember what it looked like, or if it was dumb, or - anything else, actually. Ugh- he pulled away from the cold towel and looked at it through a squint. The fabric was soaked through with blood and was starting to look very gross, very concerning. How much blood can you lose from your head before your brain dries up and you die? He sniffed painfully. If he were that Morty with the eye patch and the text-to-speak computer voice, he'd know what to do and how to do it, he thought.

"Here's what we're gonna do, Morty," said Rick, appearing again around the doorway.


	2. Chapter 2: Easy Fix

"Rick, no—no thanks,"

"Look here, y'little ding-dong," Rick said, pulling Morty onto his feet by his shirt. He planted an authoritative hand between Morty's shoulder blades and pushed him forward, out towards the landing.

"That mess on your face isn't gonna fix itself. And if you l-l-leave it 'til whenever, Morty, the wind'll change and it'll stick that way." Rick opened the bathroom door and crowded Morty inside.

"And by that, Morty, I mean that if you wait more than - like - forty minutes since you broke it, some smug shitty doctor who smells like ham in a sleeping bag is gonna get the pleasure of breaking it again for you tomorrow. And you'll have to pay him to do it. Let's be real." Rick belched and flicked an additional light switch, which flooded the already decently lit room with a hot, intense glow. Morty winced hard, pupils over-dilating.

"Let's get a proper look at youuuu-" Rick mused, gripping Morty's chin with his thumb and tilting his head forcefully up, towards the light.

"-ngh-LITERALLY, fucking _OW_ , R-R-Rick!" Morty yelped, hands waving uselessly, ugly packet of peas hitting the floor.

"Sounds about right, Morty, if i'm honest." Rick pressed two considerably more gentle fingers down under Morty's eye, lightly inspecting the bone beneath a purple bruise. Morty hummed helplessly as Rick's fingers wandered over the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. Rick briefly made eye-contact and nodded, seemingly satisfied. After a few more investigative prods, Rick drew up, back to his full height, releasing his grip on Morty's face. Morty's hands fluttered up and hovered over his nose reflexively.

"Okidoke. You may look like shit, Morty, but relatively speaking; I don't think i-i-it's too bad. Let's see-" Rick fished into the pocket over his breast and produced a small grey cube. Rick nudged Morty backward against the vanity. "Up," He instructed, tapping the sink with his free hand. Morty pushed himself up and sat onto the lip of the sink, gripping the edges with mounting panic. He had a feeling whatever was coming was probably going to hurt. Probably a lot.

"Rick- R-R- _RICK_ -" Morty protested, bringing an arm up to shield his face. Rick paused, and gave Morty a sharp, amused look.

"Muh- _Morty,_ " He mimicked, batting Morty's arm away with the back of his fingers. "Slightly preemptive, Morty. I'm not gonna do anything to your face just now, pussy willow, don't panic." He held the cube up level with Morty's eyes. "It's an X-ray. Hold still."

Rick squeezed the cube between a long thumb and forefinger. A small aperture appeared in front of Morty's eyes, and a quickly pulsing blue light started to spill out, beaming a widening lattice of squares over a cross-section of Morty's face.

"I said _still_ , Morty." Rick urged, propping Morty's chin again with his knuckles. "Also, close your eyes."

Morty did, and could feel cool spindles of light dancing across his cheeks and eyelids. It felt like a cobweb. Morty swallowed at the thought and tried not to move, focusing instead on the grounding sensation of Rick's knucklebones against his jaw.

"Donezo," declared Rick, pulling back with triumph. Morty swayed on the sink's edge and opened his eyes dizzily.

"Take a shower, Morty, and blow some of that shit out your nose."

Morty looked up quizzically and realised for the first time that the shower was running deeper into the bathroom. He sighed, resigned in advance to whatever activities Rick's doctoring determined necessary. He flipped his ruined shirt over his head, stretching the neck open to miss his nose as the fabric cleared his face. He wadded it in a ball and threw it over by the peas. Rick flicked Morty's exposed upper arm and Morty whirled to look at him.

"We're gonna teach you how to set that nose of yours in a minute," Rick warned, holding out his closed hand to Morty. Morty stared at it for a second and Rick barely stifled an impatient eye-roll before Morty realised what was happening. Morty stuck his own hand out. Into it, Rick dropped a slick little capsule with one yellow end, one white. Morty glanced up at Rick, who was twisting the cap off his flask with the side of his hand. He dropped an identical pill into his own mouth and said around it, "One for you, one for me, Morty."

Rick took a quick swallow from the flask. He shook his head at Morty who was still looking at him, expectantly.

"I recommend tap water, Morty - i-i-if you don't wanna shit yourself." Morty made a sour face and Rick gave a short laugh.

"When I play doctor, I play to win, Morty."

Morty slurped a handful of water from the tap and swallowed the capsule, figuring it best not to ask questions about gateway drugs, or gastrointestinal distress, or probably anything else at this point. He kicked off his shoes, socks and jeans before glancing at Rick's preoccupied back. He seemed to be fiddling with the tiny X-ray. Morty paused, his fingers on the waistband of his underwear, feeling weird. Stirred by the silence, Rick glanced irritably over his shoulder.

"Believe it or not, I have more enchanting things to stare at right now other than my grandson's junk, Morty. Jesus. I know kids these days have problems with narcissism a-and and whatever, but-"

Morty stepped irritably out of his underwear and into the shower. He slid the curtain closed and a blessed, wet, white noise silence followed.


	3. Chapter 3: Hi, High, Hi

Rick jostled the tiny device, searching for the too-small button with an oil-dirty fingernail. He could hear Morty painfully snuffling into the shower noise and making quiet noises of consternation at himself. Finding the minute indent, Rick pressed down sharply. In response, a thin curl of transparent paper jetted from the box and into Rick's hand. He held it up to the light and looked into it, peering at the bright bones of Morty's face.

"Good news, Humpty Dumpty," Rick yelled towards the billowing vapour of the shower. "Bones are good. Your cartilage though, Morty- your nose cartilage looks like David Bowie's dick like in The Man W-W-Who Fell to Earth. It's a-a a mess, is what i'm saying."

Morty made a noncommital, frustrated noise. "You said good news, didn't you?"

Rick clarified, amused, "We don't have to stick any alien needles in your face or eyes to glue your bones back together - we're just gonna have to pop your cartilage back in place. Which would usually suck," he laughed despite himself, "but you've had enough horse tranq's for the whole cheer team, Morty. You'll be fine."

"I dunno, Rick, I don't think i'm really- I'm not really feeling it. D'you- d'you think I need more?" Morty looked down at himself as a fresh jettison of blood shot from his nose and down his stomach. It hurt and the metal taste of blood in his mouth and throat was starting to make him feel queasy. He squatted down and pressed his back against the hot tile, letting the blood drip directly into the drain. He felt like he was looking out from inside a helmet, his perception bobbing softly from deeper inside his face than usual - like out from a sleeve.

Rick snorted mirthfully.

"Ask me that again in five minutes, _Morty_." He leant back against the vanity and tipped his head back, feeling the pricklings of an almost-new high, his awareness careening gently around the room. "Or less. You're probably in shock."

Rick closed his eyes, suddenly hyper aware and sunnily pleased with the fluffy vapour twisting in the air, softly cupping his face and settling on his skin. The light above his head dripped down in thick gulps of warmth between gusts of condensation. He sat silently letting his nerves buzz pleasantly for a few minutes, forgetting Morty almost completely.

"Huh," said Morty, feeling his irritation bob under the surface of a cool calmness that seemed to airily fill his whole head. The water under his feet seemed to swell and stretch as he felt it suck against his skin, clinging to him with affection. He slid down completely to the floor and let the wall cradle him with strong arms. He sighed out, expelling the filth and the humiliation of the day with a loud breath.

"How you feelin' out of ten, Morty?" Rick's voice swooped down and fluttered sweetly around Morty's face. Like from the bottom of a well. No - the top, and Morty was at the bottom.

"Uh, Rick, pretty good. Not as ffffucking furious, or sore, or gross," Morty hummed.

"Mm, succinct," Rick teased. "What happened to you today, anyway?"

Morty closed his eyes, expecting to feel a stab of irritation or frustration at being asked again, but instead felt a obvious, poignant, nothing.

"I'm not that good at standing up for myself? And sometimes it's someone like, four feet bigger than you who reminds you?" Morty opened his eyes. " _Suuuucked_."

Rick raised a concerned eyebrow, and levered himself to sit fully on the vanity, feeling a little guiltily like he'd given the kid truth serum instead of what was probably just Vicodin.

"Yeah," Rick replied steadily, "being small and not knowing stuff yet sucks. I-uh... I sucked huge amounts of balls when I was your age. Figuratively, Morty," he added. "But agency and identity, Morty - are learnable. Skills. It doesn't matter if you're a shrimpy idiot if you can figure out that stuff."

Morty nodded thoughtfully to himself, completely wrapped by now in an altered state.

"I bet I suck like, ten times as much balls as you did Rick," he laughed. "...As many," he corrected himself, seconds later.

Rick squinted with amusement. "That's a competition literally nobody wins, Morty - especially your Dad." He clapped his hands onto his knees and sprang up. He strode closer to the shower. "Out you get, buddy. Let's fix your face."


	4. Chapter 4: Less Dumb, Less Ugly

"I hope your sister secretly thinks that sweater is as ugly as I do, Morty," Rick mused.  
"She doesn't," Morty said, aggrieved, glancing down at the grimacing Christmas Garfield on his chest that he'd managed to bleed all over. He flapped a flannel at a wet pink smudge.

Rick scrutinised the pile of dirty laundry that he'd tipped all over the floor. He rummaged a pair of Morty's own filthy pyjama bottoms (fire hydrants?) from the mess and offered them placidly. "You're doing her a favour. These are gross - you're gross, Morty," he added, grinning, as Morty stepped clumsily onto-into them. Morty laughed a little giddily.

"I-i-it's the dirty laundry? Wha- whaddayou want from me? Why would I put- put clean-" Morty tipped spacily to the side, pulling them up. Rick caught him lightly at the shoulders, half-balancing him against a knee.

"Po-Oint taken. _Eaaaaasy_ does it, party girl."

Morty laughed helplessly. The room continued to oscillate in smudges. "Okay," he said, uselessly.

Morty looked small, kiddish, inside Summer's hood and big sleeves, Rick thought. Morty was leant carelessly up against him with a child-like acceptance, studiously pushing the stained cuffs up his arms, breathing softly through his mouth. Rick immediately transposed a little Beth, less than ten years old - very seriously showing him a bug in a butter container.

 _"Who's this?" He'd said, stretching around her at eye-level._  
 _"It's a Tobacco Hornworm Caterpillar," She said carefully, pointing. "He was eating a tomato!"_  
 _"Whoa! Little guy knows how to party!"_  
 _Beth had leant back into Rick's stomach trustingly and giggled, her hand alighting on his arm._

Rick sucked in a breath. The sedative smoothed over the irritable, guilty spider that usually crawled around in his stomach whenever he remembered Beth's weird, shitty childhood, and replaced it with a soft little beat of affection. Still holding Morty's shoulders, Rick squeezed. Morty looked up at Rick in the mirror's reflection.

"Yeah, Rick?"

Rick shook his head. "Nothin', Morty." He stepped around and stooped down, looking into Morty's face. "Let's get down to business, huh? We've fuck-assed around long enough." Rick clicked and pointed gunfingers at Morty's nose. "Y-you ready?"

Morty frowned. Garfield frowned. A low prickle of fear wormed its way to the surface. "This is gonna suck, isn't it."

"Uh-huh. But only for, like, a second."

Rick snagged the flannel from Morty's hand and tossed it on the counter. Turning back into a kneel, he held his hands out in front of his face, pressed together at the palms, thumbs extended. "Do this. Like, like-like you're praying, Morty." Rick affected a mock-beatific expression, touching his clasped hands to his nose.

Morty did, and looked at himself in the mirror, over his fingers. He touched his nose and winced. "I'm such an idiot."

"True that-"

"No, I'm serious, Rick! It su-"

"Look, Morty, I'd love to endulge your attempt to sidetrack me," Rick cut in, unmoved, "but I'm trying to make you _less_ of an idiot just now, so." He tipped his fingers towards Morty and cocked a brow.

Morty breathed out hard, replaced his hands over his nose and nodded. Rick nodded back.  
"You're gonna be doped up enough for this to be fine, I think. Close your eyes and think about Jessica's boobs."

Morty laughed nervously, spacily, from between his hands. He did, despite himself.

"Hands tight, like this-" Rick reached over and adjusted Morty's fingers. "When I count to three, I want you to pull down quick and pop your nose back in place." Rick dropped his hands down and tapped his knees. "Yes? Yes. Boobs."

"Nnnnnnnnn-" Morty hummed, fidgeting nervously on the spot.

"Make as much noise as you want, it's cool. Ready? One-"

Morty's humming increased in volume and he scrunched his eyes closed.

"Two-"

Morty snapped his hands down. His nose crunched audibly into place.

"JESUS-FUCK," Morty collapsed over on himself and buried his head into his knees. He split into immediate, uncontrollable laughter, muffled into himself.

"Hoo, _Morty!_ " Said Rick, clearly amused. He reached over and slapped Morty on the back. "You got an interesting concept of 'on three,' huh."

"Haaaaa," Morty gulped in air between shuddering laughs. "That was, like, _INSANELY_ painful. Aah, wow." He sat up. Rick's eyes scrolled over his face with a brief, clinical gaze. He winked and gave two thumbs up.

"Less dumb _and_ less ugly, though! Nice."

Morty gave a watery laugh. "Thanks, Rick. H-hopefully it doesn't happen again, but -"

"Now you can fix it, if it does," Rick agreed. He stood up, jostling Morty up with him. "S-s- the same as everything. You wanna learn how to do a thing - i'm probably smart enough to figure out how to teach you." Rick rubbed the back of his neck and squinted.

"Probably don't tell your mom about the drugs though, uh."

"Yeah," Morty agreed.

"Yeah. Ball Fondlers reruns?" Rick opened the bathroom door and stepped back, patting a nodding, laughing Morty through.


End file.
